The Boy in the Tree
by Adorkable-laughter
Summary: When Will Solace was 12 years old, he accidentally stumbled onto a path that was off the maps and full of mysteries, including the dark haired boy that continuously piqued his curiosity. The more he entered the world of the mystery boy, the more lost he became. Will he ever be able to solve the mystery?
1. Mystery Boy Lives up to His Name

Mystery Boy Lives up to his Name

Will Solace has biked along the same route every day for as long as he could remember. It was so familiar to him; the breath of air caressing his limbs as he sailed up and down the bumpy road, the sound of birds chirping a waking lullaby, the musky smell of leaves, damp from the cool overnight air. It felt like home.

The rocky road twisted meticulously; weaving through the old aged trees perfectly as if it was man-made. But, there weren't any man-made signs like path names or direction indicators or even an entrance sign. There weren't any indications that it had been crafted by the city. It was off the maps, unknown, and the only place where he felt truly alone with the world.

 _Well_... almost alone.

There was one particular tree, Will's favorite tree in the entire forest, that was different from all the rest. It didn't tower above him like a wise and strong being like the others, which seem like they've been living since the birth of the Earth. It didn't radiate with life like most, which were full of leaves and noises echoing from within.

This tree was scrawny, with thin branches popping out awkwardly, not flowing upwards gracefully. It looked dead, the bark a dark, muddy brown. It was mysterious and it drew his attention, just like the boy sitting on it did.

He smiled, he was minutes away from the mystery boy's spot. Every Morning, Will would breeze by him with a smile and a wave. The dark haired boy would glance up from his novel with a slight smile and nod in acknowledgement. That was it. But Will loved it. It was his little secret. The nameless boy and the nameless path that belonged only to him.

He wasn't sure why he'd never talked to the boy before. He saw him every day, but after not saying anything the first few days he saw him, it got harder and harder to get words out of his mouth.

He had so many questions for him.

Where does he live? Wills's family lived at the edge of civilization and he thought he knew everyone else that lived around there. There really weren't that many.

How did he find this place? It wasn't exactly a well known place and as far as Will knew, they were the only two that were aware of it.

What book was he reading? The boy always held ancient looking books, the corners worn out and the pages stained, that looked to be written in a different language.

However, all of them were left unsaid. Maybe he was afraid of breaking the spell. Like, if he learnt anymore about the boy and the mystery was solved, his childish fantasy would crumble beneath him.

He remembered the time he found the path, he didn't think he would ever forget. He'd been 12 years old, going into his second year of high school, and thirsty for an adventure. His father was a highly respected doctor, and wanted nothing more than for Will to follow his footsteps. Being a stubborn child with curious eyes waiting to discover the world and all of its possibilities, he didn't like the idea of his future being narrowed down to the medical field.

After a fight with his father when he'd announced he wanted to be a singer (his career dreams passed in waves at the time), he ran out of the house, upset. He liked to wander around the forest to clear his mind, and they lived at the edge of civilization, miles of forest spanning behind their miniature farm-like house. His feet kept moving, one foot in front of the other, until he wiped his eyes free of tears and found himself trudging along a well trimmed path that cut through the maze of trees. Tall trees formed a canopy of leaves that blocked the sun and closed the path elegantly, and he fell in love with it immediately. He found his feet pulling him there again and again, until it became a part of his life, a part of him.

He smiled at the good memories.

A rusty brown and orange bird soared in front of his face with a chirp, almost as if it was greeting him good morning, then buried itself in the green on the other end of the path. He laughed, this place was weirdly magical. Or, it was just an ordinary forest, but in his mind it felt magical, his imagination made it so.

He closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation of freedom.

He popped them open in a panic when his front wheel snagged on a solid root in the dirt. He flew down to a not-so-cushiony looking patch of slightly muddy earth. Reality hit him hard in the face before he lost grip on it completely.

He woke up to a cold finger poking his cheek. Hesitantly, he cracked open an eye and peaked at his whereabouts. Shadowing him was a porcelain faced boy with delicious chocolate brown eyes, a worried frown, and dark, scruffy hair. He had always thought the mystery boy's hair and eyes were black when he saw him settled on the second highest branch in his tree. He always matched perfectly with the tree, but up close he looked more lively than the tree; he looked real and even more beautiful.

The boy clouding his thoughts sighed loudly. "You're awake." He plopped down on the ground at Will's side. "I got worried when you didn't bike by this morning."

Will's eyes popped open fully and locked on the mystery boy.

"You should be more careful," he continued. "When you didn't show within an hour of your usual time, I knew something was wrong." He shook his head and stared at the trees above them. "I walked 10 minutes down the path you usually come from until I found you laying here looking dead."

It was strange to hear his voice; it was distant, disconnected.

"Oh." Will sat up and rubbed his neck, embarrassed. "What happened?"

"I dunno." The boy looked at Will, but not in his eyes. "You tell me."

When a bird flew out from the cover or trees on their right, chirped, and hid back in the forest on the other end, Will started to remember. He remembered shock. Then panic. Then losing control.

"I was biking with my eyes closed," he voiced his thoughts out loud. He glanced back and saw the root that had caused this, and pointed. "And then _that_ happened."

The boy shook his head and got up, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

Will stretched and followed suit. As soon as he was on two feet, the boy took a few steps back.

"So... thanks for, uh... looking for me and caring," Will said.

Will noticed the boy looked really nervous, fidgeting, biting his lip, and playing with the long strands of hair that fell into his face. "Yeah."

"My name's Will, by the way." He smiled.

"Uh... cool." Mystery boy glanced his way quickly, then turned around. "I've got to go," he whispered. And then he walked straight into the woods at their right and disappeared.

Will blinked. That was strange. He sure lived up to being a mystery boy.

He picked up his bike to find the front wheel deformed and obviously not fit to use. He sighed, turned around, and started walking home, dragging the bike at his side and replaying their exchange again and again in his head.

With the front wheel of his bike bent awkwardly, Will set out on foot the next morning. He ventured through the thick forest (their backyard) for 10 minutes until he was on the path that climbed up the land diagonally.

He started missing his bike when he realized he wouldn't be able to make it all the way up the path to the boy's tree in a decent amount of time. _Biking_ there took half an hour when the path's conditions were good, so walking would be at least three times as much since the ground was muddy.

His usual routine was biking to the tree, then going a few minutes more so it wouldn't seem as if he was biking along the path solely to see the boy, and then turning around to go home. It was a good bike ride of about an hour, and it energized him; prepared him for the long day of classes ahead.

Sometimes on the weekends he would explore further, curious about where the path led, but he never found the end. As far as he knew, the path continued until an ocean prevented it from doing so. He'd traversed through miles and miles of woods, looking for anything new, anything unusual like the boy in the tree, but there was nothing other than the occasional fox or deer that would stare at him wide eyed until he passed.

He had gone down the path the other way a few times, but there was a large ravine that he couldn't figure out how to cross. It was a few minutes out; a sudden, steep drop in the ground that curved and raised again after a stream of muddy water. Will could barely see the other side and had no idea if the path continued.

It was Sunday today. He had a whole day's worth of time and he didn't want to worry the boy again, so he decided to take the trek to the tree.

He thought about yesterday's events again. He was puzzled by it all. The boy had seemed so distant, and then he'd just ran into the woods in the middle of nowhere. Who did that?

They'd barely even gotten to speak. As soon as the conversation had turned in the direction of finding out anything about the boy, he'd closed up and disappeared. He supposed it was better than the way they were going, never saying anything and just waving at each other shyly, but still, it wasn't how he'd imagined their first conversation. He'd always pictured them getting along immediately. Like, they'd be excited to finally share the place with someone. He thought they'd talk animatedly, their words overlapping because they had so many stories to share. He'd ask all of his questions and the boy would also have a million questions to ask him.

Maybe he was too much of a dreamer. It was why he was disappointed so often.

He was disappointed when people would tell him he couldn't sing for his life, when all of his siblings were fantastic musicians. He was disappointed when he couldn't play the guitar or the drums. He was disappointed when he'd finally learned to play an instrument, the flute, but then dropped it down the stairs and broke it, and his father wouldn't buy him a new one.

He was disappointed when his grades weren't above the 80's, because he the he felt like he couldn't be good at anything. He felt like he was letting his father down.

He was disappointed now, looking at the tree, which was empty and alone. Time passes quickly when your mind is running a marathon, and he'd already reached the tree, faster than he thought possible. Only now did he notice the strain in his leg muscles and the urge to take a nap. He'd over exerted both his body and his brain on the way here, and now that he'd stopped, he didn't want to ever move again.

He circled the tree slowly, but the boy was nowhere to be found.

He felt the bark, which looked jagged but was much smoother and softer than he'd expected. He grabbed onto the first branch, getting a feel of it's strength, before pulling himself up. He climbed a few branches higher before giving up and sitting down, settled against the truck with his legs resting on the branch. He wondered how the boy climbed as high as he did considering how small he was. Will had only made it up half the tree before he started feeling dizzy, and the boy was always near the top.

He'd always expected a wonderful view from up there, but it really wasn't that special. The tree was only about half the height of all the other trees, so the only unique thing about the view was seeing the path from a new perspective. It looked smaller, less meaningful, and all the little obstacles to trip over like rocks or branches couldn't be seen.

He listened to the birds chirp as his eyes started feeling heavy and his thoughts started getting foggy, and soon enough he fell into a deep sleep.


	2. Discovering Something New

Will Solace woke up blind.

The strange feeling of a scrappy material against his arms and legs, like sandpaper but not quite as rough and grainy, startled him into a panic, wide eyes scrambling to find something familiar, but all they could see was complete darkness.

He felt for the ground beside where he was sitting, but his hand passed right through; he was surrounded by air. For a moment his brain jumped to the highest cliff of bad possibilities, convinced of the worst. He thought he'd been kidnapped, taken forcefully to the kidnapper's lair where they were holding him suspended in mid-air to torture him until finally releasing him, letting him fall to his death.

Then he thought he'd already died, and this was what it was like in hell; dooming and dreadful and like you can't move a fraction of an inch without falling into a deep, dark pit of fear.

Then he _really_ panicked. Not the kind of panic that fills your chest slowly, like a warm liquid filling you up until you feel heavy and anxious. No, the kind that explodes like fireworks, but not as pleasant. The kind that's uncontrollable and forces your body to act before your mind can use sense to stop it. The kind that leaves you with nothing but instinct.

He scrambled to get away from the unfamiliar material in which he lay, but when his balance tipped to the side and his heart thumped threateningly, his brain finally formed a thought: _don't fall._

He froze, like a deer in headlights, and hugged the rugged texture beneath him like it was the rope to survival. He stayed like that, listening to the drumming of his heart like it was music to his ears, like he might never hear it again.

He had no idea how much time passed before the nerves started to settle and his breaths started to even out, but it felt like forever. His sleep induced brain started to clear up, like a heavy cloud was being whisked away by the wind, and he started to see how ridiculous he was being.

Memories started to return and he felt like laughing, but he was scared to break the eerie silence.

He'd come to the tree like usual. But he'd walked because his bike was ruined after the crazy day that was yesterday. He remembered being disappointed when he got the the tree, the opposite of his usual reaction. He remembered mystery boy was missing. He remembered wondering about where the boy could be other than his tree, then worrying since he was never missing. He remembered exhaustion in every muscle of his body, including his brain. He remembered birds lulling him to sleep with a sweet song.

He'd fallen asleep and apparently the sun had gone down while he was out. That's it. Of course he was happy to be free from the hands of death and evil kidnappers, but he was still stuck halfway up a tall forest tree, in the dark. Not his best moment, he had to admit.

He took a few minutes to try and catch his breath fully, but there was no use. His throat was dry and complained each time he took a big breath of air, so he settled for taking short inhales through his nose.

He had no bike, and because of that, no water, which he usually put in the bottle holder on his bike. All he had was his dry, angry throat, a brain that refused to cooperate, and darkness. Well, maybe he was exaggerating. He also had the moon, which was a tiny crescent, and provided enough light for him to see the figure of the tree supporting him, now that his eyes had adjusted slightly.

He knocked his head on the trunk of the tree, frustrated. That was when it hit him. He had his phone. It was wedging into his right thigh, in the back pocket of his knee-length khaki shorts.

He reached for it happily and hugged it to his chest, feeling like it was his key; his only hope of getting out of this situation. Unlocking the screen, he realized his father must be going insane. Will had left early in the morning like usual, before his father was awake. But he usually got back just in time for breakfast and his dad would ask him if he had a good bike ride, he'd nod and tell him breakfast smelled good. His father would then tell him there's no need to lie, they all knew his cooking sucked. He'd also ask about where Will biked, and Will would always say around the neighborhood.

His phone alerted him to four new messages and five missed calls. He definitely was _not_ looking forward to facing his father. His father was usually pretty relaxed and laidback, and he was quite the jokester, but he was certainly scary when he got angry.

Will still remembered the first time his father got mad at him, actually mad. Like, overtaken by anger to the point where Will couldn't recognize him.

Will had 5 siblings, and they'd all entered the music industry with a breeze. They were naturals, just like his father. Even though his father was a pharmaceutical researcher, he was always singing, dancing, and playing instruments around the house. Will had long ago lost count of the number of family orchestras that'd been born in their household. They'd be eating dinner and someone would accidentally bang a fork on a plate with a _clang,_ then someone else would follow suit, then another, like a domino effect until they were all banging spoons and knives and forks and cups, forming a beat that Will wasn't coordinated enough to follow. He'd bounce or hum to the beat but never contribute to it. Then sometimes if one of them had a song stuck in their head and they'd start singing it, the rest of the family would join in until they were all dancing around and putting on a show, using cups as microphones and plates as drums. They were definitely what one would call a theatrical family.

That's why Will had always felt like the outsider, sort of like he was the mutt of the litter. He wasn't a natural at playing instruments, and his voice was _okay_ , but he felt like a shadow compared to the rest of his family.

It was around grade 9 when he'd stopped with the _I'm useless at everything_ way of thinking, when he had his first real science class, learning chemistry and biology. He passed with flying colors and actually found himself enjoying the subjects. They were interesting, and he felt like there was meaning behind learning it all: to help people. He realized the problem was never that he was incapable or not good at learning things, he just wasn't learning the right things up to that point; he wasn't learning the things he wanted to learn. To actually learn a lesson, you've got to want to, to choose to.

So his father was proud of him as he pursued this interest with a new goal: to become a doctor and save lives. That way he'd never have to grieve like he did when his oldest brother Lee died of a severe concussion after getting into a fight.

It was after his second sibling passed away that he hit a really rocky road.

After his first brother died, he used his grief as motivation, as fuel to stop being useless. To stop sitting around while everything happened around him. He wanted to make his brother proud. He wanted to become as wonderful as his brother had been and he channeled all these emotions into his studies.

He stumbled onto a different kind of path when his second oldest brother, Michael, died; he experienced a new side of grief. He experienced the kind that drains you of energy instead of boosting you with it. He experienced the kind that results from having a closer relationship with the person that passed away.

Not as focused on his studies after Michael slipped from his grasp, his grades went down and he started to lose motivation. With all the studying he'd done, he still couldn't save his brother, so what was the point anymore? He lost his older brother, who wasn't only a brother to him; he was also his hero, his tutor, and his friend. Michael was a fantastic musician like the rest, but he'd also studied the sciences as a back up, so Will had always been closest to him. He felt like Michael understood him. Michael didn't seem to get by without blinking an eye like the rest of his siblings. He was short-tempered and got frustrated when things weren't working out for him, like when he felt one of his shows wasn't as good as it could have been and he'd band his fist against the walls. Later he'd say that his next show would be better, that it would be the best one yet, and Will would nod enthusiastically.

Will always looked up to his brother. And then he'd died in a car accident. He'd been on his tour bus headed to the last show of his band's tour when, as they were crossing a bridge, a truck jammed into them from the left and sent them flying off the bridge; flying to their deaths.

When his grades dropped below the passing bar, his father decided to have a little chat with him. Will was a mess. He wanted to give up on school and on everything, he didn't think he could do it all on his own. That was the first time his father actually got mad at him.

That was also the day Will realized how proud his father actually was of him. He still remembered the end of their conversation, after his father had cooled down.

 _"But- but I can't do it without him. He was the reason I got this far," Will said._

 _"I was always waiting for the day you'd come and ask me for help, you know. Where do you think Michael learnt everything from. Who do you think helped him?" his father asked._

 _"I dunno, I always sort of thought he was just super smart and knew everything, I guess."_

 _"Will, he's not a god. Everyone struggles. No one is born knowing everything."_

 _"I know."_

 _"I always thought you did." He smiled. "I always thought you were the smart one of the bunch. You always worked so hard in school and your grades never wobbled in the slightest. You weren't set on following the family streak and jumping into the music industry. You knew that wasn't for you and so you found your place and you excelled in it. I thought you had it all figured out and I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner that you didn't. So, no, I don't think you do know, and that's my fault."_

 _Since when could his father be so serious?_

" _Um-"_

" _When Lee was 12, he failed music class-"_

" _Uh- what?"_

" _Wait, let me finish." his father held his hand up to silence him. "He'd been goofing off with friends all the time, thinking he could be good at everything without trying. Even if I tried to lecture him, to smack some sense into him, he was stubborn as a mule."_

 _His father paused to look at him, but Will continued to stare at him wide-eyed._

" _Some people have to learn lessons for themselves, and he sure did. After having a heated argument with his grade 7 music teacher upon receiving their term 1 report cards -to which I was called over to suffer through an atrocious meeting of his stone faced principle repeating 'get a hold of your son' over and over."_

 _He looked Will in the eyes, hinting that this was the time to listen carefully._

" _He realized it then: no one is born knowing everything." He stopped to let that sink in. "You're not inferior to your siblings, Will."_

 _Will just frowned._

" _And I know you know Michael struggled, too."_

" _Yeah, but that's just because he didn't know how to settle for anything. He was amazing at things but he wanted to be better."_

 _His father groaned. "No, that's not it exactly. He struggled because he wasn't perfect, and because he didn't think he was all that amazing. Why do you think he got a college degree in health sciences when he could easily be one of the most successful people in the music industry?"_

" _I dunno. Because he was smart?"_

 _His father laughed._

" _No, it was because he doubted himself. He didn't think he could make it in the music industry, and he was afraid."_

" _But he was great!"_

" _And so are you, Will. But you don't seem to know it either."_

 _Will stayed silent for awhile, trying to comprehend everything. Or maybe he was trying to find an argument, to find proof that his father was wrong. That would be easier than accepting it._

" _I'll be your tutor from now on," said his father with a smile. "But I have to admit, I'm a little rusty. It's been awhile since your old man has looked at all this stuff." He stood up with a laugh. "Actually, I'll be fine. Maybe Lee and Michael weren't gods, but I'm pretty sure I am."_

 _Will laughed. That was the father he knew, not that this serious version of him was all that bad. "Thanks, dad."_

 _His father pointed at himself with wide eyes. "Me?" He sounded absolutely incredulous._

 _Will whacked his arm lightly. "Yes, you." Will smiled. "Thank you, father."_

 _His father ruffled his hair. "Anytime, kiddo."_

He smiled down at his father's smiling face on his phone screen. He sighed, no longer scared of facing his father's angry face. Before he had the chance to click _call,_ though, Will noticed something strange behind the tree.

It was orange and bright and it continued as far as he could see. It stood out like a mule and Will was puzzled over the fact that he'd never noticed it before. It was horizontal lines spray painted on every few trees, leading deeper into the dreary forest. It pulled Will to follow.


	3. Strange Encounters

The lines reminded Will of childhood laughs, of wind making his eyes water and his curly blond locks wander, and of absolute satisfaction as a black and white ball flew into a net and bounced back happily. It reminded Will of the night time soccer games in the fall season, when the field had been newly painted, and the air was crisp and filled with the smell of chemicals; suffocating but satisfying.

They lived in the small city of Eastport, Maine, that had a total of about a thousand people in the entire city, and way more trees and way less buildings. It wasn't more than that, a city made of lively trees and not so lively buildings and even less lively people. Will's father was like the sun of the city, the one constantly trying to lighten it up, bring it to life. He constantly had spontaneous ideas of things to fix in the town. The list of things missing in the town went on forever, and his father made it his mission to shorten that list.

He started archery lessons, an actors studio, vocal training, a dance studio, a chess club, a book club and almost every sport, all volunteer based. He opened a lemonade stand every summer, which he forced Will to handle because he was too busy making sure all of his other organizations were running smoothly, on top of working at the pharmacy during the day. He'd run around town trying to find people to help make these things happen. People who could shoot a bow or were willing to try, actors with spare time on their hands or theater enthusiasts, people who had decent vocal cords, choreographers and children who loved to dance, nerds with passion, and anyone who knew the rules to any sport. Soccer, for example.

There was a large field about a 15 minute drive from Will's house, one of the only places in the city that wasn't covered in trees and rare buildings. And so a sports center was born. It was shared between the sports. Baseball in the spring; golf, tennis and badminton in the summer; soccer, football and ultimate frisbee in the fall.

They made use of the resources they had, using beach towels as bases for baseball, cut up fishing nets as nets and tarp poles to hold the nets up for tennis and badminton, and spray paint from the convenience store to draw field lines on the grass. One year all they could find was orange spray paint, and so that's what they used. And it has sort of become a tradition since then. And it actually worked better, it glowed better in the dark, and was cheap.

He approached the first tree with orange spray paint, and ran his fingers over the horizontal line that glowed in the darkness of the night. It reminded him of Popsicles after a tiring evening of running back and forth a grassy field.

It reminded him of being on top of the world, jumping up and down and cheering, and of the relief after a slim victory.

It reminded him of pain, too. Of tripping over the soccer ball because he was a clumsy child, then tumbling to the ground and getting a faceful of green grass stained with orange paint. It reminded him of gagging as chemical-tasting grass filled his mouth after he fell.

But most of all, it reminded him of the feelings he loved the most; the feelings of an adventure: excitement and anxiety and mostly, curiosity. Like the feeling just before a game would begin, when the sun was just starting to set and the sky was tinted orange to match the lines painted on the field, and the atmosphere was pumped with the possibility of a victory. It reminded him of the excitement of a mystery; of the unknown outcome of the games where anything could happen.

The thrill of of an adventure, of pursuing a mystery and trying to solve it, made Will's blood flow faster. It energized him and replaced all fear with curiosity as he traipsed through the thick woods, using his phone's flashlight to illuminate the uneven forest ground. His feet made loud noises which bounced and echoed off the trees as he maneuvered around the countless obstacles; stepping over this branch then around that tree before he had the chance to put his foot back down, and repeating the cycle again and again.

Will had never before ventured off the path, he'd never even thought to. He'd just assumed miles of the same old forest spanned on both sides of the path until the urban areas cut in. And exploring it for the first time, on top of that, _at night_ , was strangely exhilarating.

His face looked like a newly blossomed flower, like he was coming to life as he was smiling and jumping from one patch of clear ground to the next. But at the same time his face was warped by panic: his eyes glassy with histarity, his frown unshakable, and he was cautiously crawling along, bracing himself for the worst. It was like his brain couldn't decide whether he should be joyously leaping on this adventure like a pirate handed a map for a treasure, or cowering away and hiding in a tree like it was a safe house until the sun brightened the path, so he was stuck in between, twitching.

The forest was a lot different at night. Just as lively and magical, but like it was in a different gear. Like all the energy was being vacuumed into the shadows instead of the sun rays. And the noises were different too, instead of a constant chorus of all the animals making their calls: mating calls, food calls, warning calls in the face of predators, and all the different sounds coming together in a sort of theatrical musical, it was like a devastating ballad with crickets chirping as the background audio and the nocturnal animals shouting out sporadically for the chorus.

He looked down at his phone again, which advertised the time brightly on the pokemon clock app he'd installed, with pokemon smiling like it was a good thing that it was pitch black and 2:37 in the morning. He was contemplating calling his father as he'd been about to before he saw the orange paint, but realized that was rash and probably his worst option. What would he even say?

 _"Hey father, what's up? Wait, never mind, you're obviously sitting on the living room sofa, kicking your feet restlessly with bloodshot eyes, worried sick about me."_ Or, _"I know it's like 3 in the morning, but please don't freak out. I'm sort of in the middle of the woods right now, on this abnormal path I discovered when I was 12 and never told you about."_

Anyway, what would his father be able to do about it? Come rescue him? March out into the woods with a flashlight in hopes he'd run into Will so he could hold his hand and escort him home?

Will's instructions would be, " _Yeah, so you just have to go out the back door and walk straight into the woods and keep walking until you enter a path that's not supposed to exist. Then walk up the path, to the right, until you see a different tree that's looks dead compared to the rest. Then follow the orange paint behind it until you find me. It should only take a bit over an hour, and you should probably bring a flashlight. And maybe a sandwich too, yeah, that would be nice, I'm starving here. Bring two if you want one too. And don't forget I like mustard on mine!"_

Right.

After standing awkwardly with one foot perched on the edge of one of the orange stained tree's roots, the other at least three feet back on a patch of clear ground, and an arm swung around a quarter of the wide trunk for support for almost half an hour in a state of indecisiveness, he decided to settle down and wait for his brain to wake up with the sun.

He let himself fall onto the cool, damp forest floor which was covered in fallen and half decomposed leaves if not for bushes or tree roots or random holes which he assumed were animal homes but didn't allow himself to wonder which kind of animal they inhabited, and leaned back onto the semi-smooth, semi-moss-covered bark of the tree.

He opened up Sonic Dash on his phone to pass time, but ended up losing every level before he even reached the difficult parts because he kept glancing around, paranoid, then running into bombs or falling into the ocean. His mind just couldn't escape into Sonic Dash when he could hear every noise and every movement around him, even the blowing of the wind, which was all too unsettling. He decided to just lean his head back and watch the wind blowing the leaves until sunrise. It was going to be a _long_ night.

Will's eyes flew wildly to the right at the sound of a branch snapping, and were immediately stuck in two wide, circular irises. They were a glassy walnut brown that reflected the forest scenery, and Will found himself caught in reality. He was barely a figure in the animal's eyes; more like a dressed up snowman, built by a blue dot for his blue jeans, then a smaller green dot for his hunter green hoodie and on top, a tiny yellow speak for his head. It made it all seem more _real_ , how helpless and tiny he was in comparison to the powerful looking forest that encircled him, like he was even less than a stick figure when juxtaposed to it. He was as useless as a few dots in the perspective of the army of towering trees which ran for miles.

The animal's eyes were elegant and innocent and honest, and genuinely afraid. Afraid of him.

Will was crouched with one hand on the ground and the other on the tree, ready to bolt. He stood up slowly, getting a better perspective of the animal frozen in front of him. It was a deer. A life sized deer, skin and bone and fur and antlers and all, including the most classic deer-like expression of frozen fear. Looking at its tense limbs, he realized that even though he was the one who should be afraid, that wasn't the case.

Will was absolutely harmless. He was definitely not the strongest of the two, and he had no weapons, yet the deer stared at him like he was an imminent life threat, like he was an atomic bomb set to blow at the slightest movement. If anyone had the weapon, it was the deer, with those long, pointed antlers growing from it's head.

But the antlers didn't really look like weapons when they were on the deer. They just looked graceful and beautiful. Everything about the deer was mind blowing. It was probably just an ordinary deer, but for someone who'd never before been in the vicinity of such beautiful animal, it was magical.

He pushed his foot a few inches forward and the deer just kept looking at him.

He brought the other foot forward.

No movement.

Gaining a bit of confidence, he took an entire step forward so that the deer was a bit more than arms length away.

The deer's expression didn't change, and it stayed bolted in place.

Will was hardly breathing as he lifted his right hand. He held it infront of him, not extended all the way, like he were approaching a strange dog and was letting it sniff his hand first.

Not even a twitch.

Eyes focused on the deer, he took another baby step forward, but his foot got caught on a vine-like branch and he went flying forward. His eyes flew shut and he expected to meet fur and a solid body, but ended up with mud and leaves and a root digging into his chest painfully.

He peaked his eyes open to see the deer running away.

After his strange run in with a deer, he decided to keep following the orange painted trees, not as afraid now that the sky was a light blue and the sun was peaking out from behind the trees. And he'd already come so far, so he might as well go all the way.

It wasn't long before he found himself standing in front of a wooden cabin, mesmerized. His feet pulled him up the three steps leading to the dark front door.

Before he knew it he heard a loud series of knocks, and was shocked to see it coming from where his hand was now resting on the cold door.

When the door opened Will wondered for a while if he was hallucinating.

Then he thought maybe he was dreaming. He could have fallen asleep where he had been settled in the woods, after all. And that would explain the deer, too (not that deers are _that_ uncommon here… it just seemed strange).

He pinched his arm.

Nothing happened other than his heart beating.

He opened his eyes fully and took in the sight in front of him.

The boy wasn't in his usual attire, that composed of loose, long sleeved black shirts, black jeans that fit his form moderately snuggly, and black, torn up converse. Now he was in batman pajama pants and a loose navy blue T-shirt; it looked cute but seemed strange. The boy had been printed in his mind with his usual outfit, and Will realised that all this time, he had been thinking about him as if he was a character, not a real person. Like he was from an anime series where each character had their signature and unique outfit that they'd wear throughout the entire series. He never thought about what they wore behind the scenes, away from the public eye; the things they wore that truly characterized them.

Startled by this change; by this revelation, he just stared at the boy, who returned his stare with eyes wide like golf balls.

Then too soon, a dark, wooden door was quickly approaching his face and a loud bang echoed through the woods as the boy slammed it shut. The last thing he saw before being startled backwards by the door was panic filling the boy's eyes.

He stood, shocked, on the second step leading to the balcony, before he heard voices from the inside.

"Nico?" a strong, deep voice yelled. "Who was that?"

Will took the few remaining steps to get back to the door, filled with curiosity.

"No one," said mystery boy… or, Nico? His name was Nico? That felt weird, too.

"Thought so," replied the same voice, perhaps his father. "It'd be a first if an actual person was at our door, a shocking one." There was a pause, it sounded like someone was walking up or down a staircase. "It was probably just a stupid bird or a lunatic squirrel or-"

"Nico!" Now it was a girl's voice. "I know you're lying!"

No response.

"Just look at your face! The forest wouldn't have you looking like that," the girl continued.

" _Hazel_ ," Nico said, like a warning.

Will touched his ear to the cold wood so he'd hear them clearer. He didn't even consider the fact that he was eavesdropping and that it would seem, to Nico, like he was stalking him.

The next words came in rushed mumbles, and he couldn't decipher them. But then he heard something that sounded like, "The blond! _The_ blond?" in an exasperated tone.

Were they referring to him? What did she mean by _the_ blond? She said it like a title, as if they'd given him that title.

Then again, he'd done the same to Mystery Boy- no, Nico.

Now it sounded like he was shushing her, and she was struggling.

Then there was a bang against a wall, like a body being pushed against it before the door holding his weight disappeared and he found himself falling towards the scariest looking girl he'd ever seen.


	4. A Painful Past

The moment Nico di Angelo heard the pop of the toaster, he panicked. Toast was the last thing to enter his mind as he wrapped himself into a ball, imagining that he was a snail protected by a shield-like shell. He clenched his eyes shut as he clenched his fists shut, but when he unclenched his fists to relieve the pressure, his eyes remained locked shut, making the world black to suit his dark, deadly panic.

The silence after the pop felt like a snake slithering in his stomach and up into his throat; suffocating.

In the darkness all he could see were memories, memories of a similar sounding pop.

He was 8 years old all over again, standing in the middle of the largest crowd his curious little eyes had ever seen. It was the day of the summer carnival in Venice, Italy, and his mother, sister, and even his grouchy father, had been babbling about it all week. They planned to see clowns that were to make Nico a purple balloon dog friend because purple was his favorite colour and he'd always wanted a pet dog, but his father constantly refused. They were going to go on rides and Nico was going to scream like a little girl the whole time while Bianca laughed until she couldn't breath. They were going to be just another family among the millions, having the time of their lives. They were going to end off the day with their first fireworks as a family and it would be like they were living a dream. It was going to be a perfect day.

Of course, all things "perfect" never work out as planned. And actually, none of those plans even had the chance to work out.

Nico and Bianca had been fighting over who got to hold their mother's hand. She only had one hand available because in her other hand she held a picnic basket with their lunch, bagels with strawberry jam for Bianca and him. Finally his father had said, "How about we have some father-son quality time, Nico?"

Their mother had agreed enthusiastically, and that was how Nico ended up 10 paces behind his sister and his mother, walking stubbornly with his arms crossed and refusing to hold his father's hand. Bianca was gripping their mother's hand up ahead, showing off, and skipping along like she owned the world. Every few seconds she'd turn her head to look at him and stick out her tongue. It was driving him _insane_. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He wanted revenge, he wanted to run up and yank their mothers hand away then laugh in Bianca's face until she cried. He was so _angry._ But his father wouldn't let him get even a step closer to her and so he had to walk along, watching as she took another win.

Through his angry thoughts he suddenly heard a loud noise that he couldn't comprehend. The noise sounded mean, like it wanted to destroy. He wondered for a second if that was what the monster in his closet sounded like. The one Bianca had told him about, that would come out and eat him if he woke her up between 9 pm and 9am.

He'd never imagined that Bianca could be the one getting eaten.

The monster was scary. It didn't have a body but it smelled like fear. And fire.

His mother didn't have the chance to turn around, to look at their faces one last time, before she was nothing. He couldn't remember her face anymore, her real face, not her picture face.

Bianca's face he did see, though. She'd been sticking her tongue out at him and winking. In a second that expression had changed completely, her mouth opening wide, as big and round as the cotton candy they'd been planning to buy.

And then words were coming out of that mouth, which was strange.

"Nico! You're toast is ready!" _Toast._

Toast.

In the toaster.

It was toasted.

He was safe.

He exhaled slowly, but not steadily.

Then he inhaled. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven-

"Nico?" _Hazel._ She was safe, too. He stopped holding his breath and it felt like his entire body was thanking him. He loved that feeling.

He unwrapped his arms from their solid grasp on his legs and started stretching out like a roll of paper slowly unravelling.

"Don't tell me you're still afraid of the toaster." Nico stiffened again. Then Hazel's voice softened. "Are you?"

No, he couldn't be. He'd gotten over that long ago. "Of course not," he replied, wishing Hazel was tired and wouldn't read too deep into his voice like she usually did.

The world didn't grant his wish, as usual. "Then why do you sound like a cow who just walked onto a busy highway?"

"I-" An excuse, he needed an excuse. Where are all the believable excuses hiding? Probably along with all the other life hacks Nico couldn't seem to find. "I was asleep."

"And? You sleep every night."

"I was asleep. And... I was having a dream."

"Wow. A dream. What kind of dream?"

"Well... I guess it was more of a nightmare..."

"And, in his nightmare of a dream, did a toaster monster come to kill you?"

"What? No!" He paused, wondering if there was even the slightest chance that Hazel would stop prodding him before he spilled everything. "Hazel..."

"Nico..." She mimicked his voice.

Nope, she wasn't going to give in to his child play. He stayed silent.

"Want me to put strawberry jam on your toast?"

"Sure..."

"Okay. Come down to eat, so we can talk."

 _Talk._ Talk, talk, talk. People always wanted him to talk. Talk about your feelings, Nico. Talk about your thoughts, Nico. Talk about your problems, Nico. Talk about everything, Nico, then all your problems will be solved.

Well, that sure didn't work for his father, who never stopped talking to him when he was a child. All it did was turn them both into hopeless, lifeless, losers who couldn't handle a little anxiety.

He pulled himself away from the soft comforters sadly, then slouched out of his room and down the stairs until he got to the kitchen, his shoulders drooping lower and lower as he went.

He got Hazel and himself glasses of milk, then sat at their mini, wooden kitchen table in his usual spot, the one nearest to the stairs, where Hazel had placed his toast. She sat across from him and waited.

The toast didn't look very tasty anymore, but staring at the toast was better than looking at Hazel. He could picture her face perfectly; her motherly and understanding golden eyes, her mouth in a straight, patient line, and her majestic curls pulled back into a loose ponytail. One look would have his face spilling everything.

He pretended to analyse his toast, pushing it back and forth on his plate. He could feel Hazel analysing him as hard as he was analysing the toast.

His facade wouldn't last much longer so he picked up the toast and held it infront of his face, trying to build up even the slightest of an apatite, but his attempts were in vain. The toast smelled less like delicious strawberry jam and more like memories of his dead sister. It looked less like the perfect balance of crunchy bread smoothened out with sweetness, and more like Bianca's sparkling eyes and wide mouth coming in to take a big bite. Instead of making his stomach hold a welcoming party like usual, it made his stomach revolt.

"Did I not make it properly?" Hazel asked from behind his toast mask.

Nico sighed and put the toast back down.

"I could make you another…" she continued, to fill the silence.

"No…" Nico said. "It's okay. The toast is fine, I'm just not hungry…"

"Okay. So you're not hungry because…?"

Nico didn't answer. He'd let Hazel figure it out, like usual. That's how things went, they'd have their "talks" where Hazel would act like his psychologist and would get him to spill all his problems without him actually spilling anything.

"Because something happened…" She lifted one of her arms up from her lap and rested it on the table, bent at the elbow. "Something happened this morning, and that's why you came home later than usual this morning, and didn't join us for lunch…"

She was eyeing him like he was her science experiment and the results were unclear.

"Something happened when you visited the tree, am I right?"

Nico nodded solemnly.

"And this something… did it have anything to do with the blond boy?"

Nico frowned and turned his head away. He'd told her about him only last year, 5 years after the boy's first appearance. Well, he hadn't exactly _told_ her.

Hazel, Nico's step-sister, moved into their house a few months before the blond boy appeared in Nico's life, when Nico was 10. It also happened to be two years after Bianca died, so at first he wasn't very welcoming towards having a new sister.

The reason Hazel had moved in was the death of her mother. They lived in New Orleans, Louisiana, but her mother, Marie Levesque, had no siblings, which meant that there was no one to take care of Hazel. Except for the father that she'd never met because according to her mother, "his head wasn't screwed on right." She hadn't arrived in the best of states, but Nico and his father had been in even worse states.

"So you saw the blond boy again. Like you do everyday…" She bent her arm up at the elbow and rested her head on her hand, deep in thought. "But today it was different… because he... spoke to you?"

Hazel was a good investigator. Or maybe she was just good at people. She was so good with people that even when all Nico did was treat her with disgust and throw her troubles in her face, she still tried to help him, she still knew how to put that behind her and be the person he needed her to be.

"But you came home _late…_ and a nervous mess…." She tapped her chin a few times. "If he'd spoken to you, you'd have come home early, you'd have escaped as fast as you could."

Nico was a figure, a _character_ , to her. A character with pages and pages of stories that she'd dissected until his personality was clear as a crystal. She can predict how each of his next stories will unravel.

"So maybe… today was different because he _didn't_ show up…" She thought her new conclusion over in her head. Nico knew she was calculating all the possibilities, and all the ways Nico could have reacted to them.

She was good at math, too. No, she wasn't good at school math, she was good at people math. She knew how to solve any problem when it came to the math of Nico. It only took her two years to crack the code.

Nico glanced at her. She was smiling, like she knew. Like she knew everything. She probably did, Nico thought. His mouth twitched.

"So he didn't show up and you were worried." She'd moved both of her arms so that her hands were lying flat on the table in front of her. She was getting to business. "You were worried because he hasn't missed a day since four years ago…"

Four years ago… when Nico was 12 years old. At the time, Nico had only just formed a more solid routine with the boy. At first, they was sporadic, their meetings. They were bittersweet, because every time could've been the last time. Nico would visit his tree at random times, settle down with a book, sometimes read, but most of the time he'd just stare at the words and think, or remember. When the boy with the smile would show up, he'd feel successful for the rest of the day, happy in a way.

Then Hazel had started enforcing his homeschooling. There was a website online that they'd both been set up with, and they had to study at their own pace then take the exams and submit their results when they were ready. Nico had been doing it since the death of his mother and sister, but he'd been stuck on level 10 (for 10 year olds), not really willing to try to surpass that.

When he was 12, Hazel forced him to get into a school-like routine along with her. That's when he started visiting the tree at the same time every morning before "school". The boy started coming at that time every morning in the school season too, probably before he started school.

But one random week that year, Nico stopped seeing the red bike climbing the hill. He stopped seeing the sunny smile. It all stopped, just like that. Simply, like a car hitting the brakes near a stop sign. But the only difference is, the car didn't start back up and keep going, at least not for a while.

"You were worried about him, but mostly afraid." She straightened her back. "You were afraid that history would repeat itself and you wouldn't see him for a long while, or maybe even this time, you wouldn't see him ever again."

 _You wouldn't see him ever again._ Those words flew straight to his chest, twisting it painfully.

"And you, being the reckless person you are, tried to go to him for once."

When she said this out loud, it made it sound like the boy and him were actual acquaintances, not just people who passed each other by every day. Nico could've been just another person on the route of the blond boy's life, just another person to receive one of his smiles.

"You ventured away from the tree… from your sense of security…"

He was reckless and he didn't understand his own panic disorder.

"And when you realized it, you panicked."

Just like always…

"Okay… that's okay, Nico. Things happen."

He nodded.

"Thanks for telling me all of this…"

No, _thank you Hazel for not making me tell you any of this_ ….

 _Thank you for noticing something was wrong on that day four years ago._

 _Thank you for being so thoughtful and kind without any reason to be._

"You shouldn't go tomorrow… to the tree, I mean. Take a break, okay?"

He nodded, looking into her eyes finally. He said thank you with his eyes.

"We'll take a day off of school, too. How about a Harry Potter marathon?"

He smiled for real.


	5. Worlds Colliding

As soon as they finished the fifth Harry Potter movie, Nico had concluded that he was a lot like Neville Longbottom. Clumsy, prone to running into danger (or being the cause for it), and statistically proven to follow a pattern of failure.

Then they finished the last movie and he changed his mind. Neville just went from being the all-time klutz/party pooper to the badass hero of 8 movies of angst and suspense that culminated to the final battle against Voldemort, which Neville promptly ended with the simple swing of a sword slicing the head of that slithering snake (using none other than the Sword of Gryffindor that was summoned only for the bravest and most loyal Gryffindor's).

If the time ever came for him to eat or be eaten, he'd probably open his arms wide like, _"Come at me. Eat me."_ Not that he wanted to be eaten by a snake or anything. Or killed by the evil wizard of the century. He just didn't have it in him to make the effort to survive. His opponent probably had more incentive to live, and would therefore win in a fight for survival, so he might as well put no effort into it in the first place.

It would be a whole different story if Hazel was the one standing in front of the snake, though. Then he'd fight. That would be like instinct, but not fight or flight instinct, it would be fight or fight.

It would most likely go the other way around, though: Hazel fighting for him, her being the role model sister she is.

When Hazel concluded that she really didn't understand Harry Potter, and that writers were dubious in their ability to twist the characters in such tight and complex knots, so that no one could ever untie them completely, Nico decided he'd read Hazel wrong, and that real people were knotted much more tensely than fictional ones were.

Hazel wasn't good at people math like he'd thought. No, she just cared about people. And she was a hard worker, so when she cared about something, she worked towards it. She cared about him and his father as soon as she stepped into their house, and she worked towards helping them for 5 whole years. And they hadn't even noticed. Well, he'd noticed (but not necessarily appreciated it, or ever even _thanked her_ ) but his father _definitely_ hadn't.

Lying on the couch with her head resting in Nico's lap, Hazel looked happy, relaxed. Nico was twirling a strand of her hair around his fingers again and again. Every time he'd release it, it would spring right back into the same crazy curl, then he'd tighten it back around his index finger, then let it slip, and _bam!_ Beautiful havoc in the form of golden-brown curls. She was like some sort of Roman war hero or something. All she needed was the golden armor, and maybe less softness in her eyes; a more steel expression.

He hoped she understood that this, the simple touches and soft moments of comfortable silence that Nico could never dream of sharing with another human being without protruding into a fearful shell, was his way of saying thank you.

The next morning was strange. Nico woke up and his body felt like jelly.

His brain was processing things slowly.

He felt like an old aged computer.

He decided it was going to be a pajama day.

Hazel and his father were still upstairs getting ready for the day when he heard a knock on the door.

And maybe it was the fact that his brain seemed to be malfunctioning that day, but for some reason, he found himself turning the handle of the door, like the good old days.

Maybe he'd never fully woken up that morning, and in his sleep induced state, he was still living his happy childhood, when he'd happily hop to the door, hoping for the "cookie people" to come by (they were really the Boy Scouts, but no difference).

There was something strange in the air that morning, definitely.

But what was waiting on the other side of the door sure woke him up, and _definitely_ reverted him back to his usual panicky self.

At his doorway stood the blond boy.

 _The_ blond boy. Sky blue eyes, sunny blond hair, and all.

It took a few moments of shocked eye contact for Nico to get his limbs to function again, and he slammed the door shut as soon as he could.

Then his father was questioning him and he felt like he was being interrogated before being sent to jail, because his father never spoke to him, and his voice had this powerful ring of authority to it.

"Nico?" boomed his father's heavy, rarely heard voice. "Who was that?"

"No one," Nico replied dismissively, partly to convince himself that this was just a strange morning for him and it was all his imagination, which wasn't that unlikely. He did have a wild imagination, or so he'd been told.

"Thought so," his father said. "It'd be a first if an actual person was at our door, a shocking one."

 _Trust your father, Nico._

"It was probably just a stupid bird or a lunatic squirrel or-"

 _Your father knows, he must know. He's your father._

But honestly, that just made it harder to convince himself, his father wasn't all that _sane._

Hazel cut him off. "Nico!" she yelled, as she came down the stairs. "I know you're lying!"

She was right, of course. He was lying, lying to himself, lying to his family, like he always did.

"Just look at your face! The forest wouldn't have you looking like that," she continued, gathering more evidence to prove him wrong as she approached him.

" _Hazel_ ," Nico said, in warning.

" _Nico_ ," she replied, mimicking his tone.

Then she sighed. "It'll feel better if you told me, Nico," she whispered.

"I know," he replied, even quieter, and then he added, in a rush, " it's the blond boy."

She leaned in closer and he wasn't sure if she'd caught that. He wished she didn't, but luck was never on his side.

Her brows furrowed. "The blond! _The_ blond!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide, confused.

His hand flew to her mouth, shushing her. She tried to get around him, towards the door, but Nico wouldn't let her.

 _He would not let her._

But she was a warrior, after all, and she pushed through and banged straight into the door.

Nico was dashing up the stairs as soon as Hazel's hand went to re-open it.

His feet felt like they were moving in slow motion and each step of the staircase was another cliff he had to climb.

It felt like he was living one of his nightmares, the one where his body was put in slow motion and the rest of the world was put in fast forward, and he had to move, he had to _get away_ , but _couldn't_. No matter how fast he went, how hard he tried, he couldn't escape. _Escape what?_ He didn't even know, he just knew he had to get away, and _fast,_ but it felt like he was running through Jello.

It felt like he was running through an ocean, a vast expanse of seemingly never ending water, and running in water is hard enough, but waves kept crashing into him and slowing him down.

It felt like he was running through eternity.

It felt like he was running against time.

It felt like he was running against a heavy crowd.

It felt like he was running through a large room filled with people and no way out, no doors, no windows, _nothing._

He felt stuck, trapped.

 _Finally,_ he reached the top of the stairs, and wanted to collapse from the effort, but he also wanted to continue running as fast as he could because there were so many nerves and so much anticipation.

So much fear.

 _Why, how could he possibly be at the door?_

There was never anyone at their door. No one even knew their door existed. No one even knew their house existed.

Except for the town mayor, who wouldn't dare to come without giving a warning in advance. He knew about their "issues", or whatever other people would consider them. Disorders, phobias, whatever.

It didn't really matter what people called them, because people didn't understand them. They were just classifying the unknown, trying to make sense of the abstract, by giving it names and labels that could trick their minds into some sense of understanding.

But really, Nico and his family were just that, a family. A family that had gone through some shitty things, and of course, everything affects something, but in this case it affected _everything._ Their family, their home, their lifestyle, their mental state, their _entire life_ was affected. 

It sucked. But, you know, it's best not to dwell on 'what if's' and blah, blah, blah, blah, _blah_.

Think positive! Be an optimist! Have a good attitude! Look at the bright side!

Well, what if your mind was physically incapable of doing so? What if you mind was prone to panic? To negative thoughts?

Then what?

That sure wasn't something they taught in school.

No, they taught people to ignore all the ugliness in the world and look at the pretty _sunshine,_ and even when it was an ugly, rainy day, don't focus on that, look for the rainbows!

It would be a horror if they were to put the idea in a child's head that something like what Nico went through _exists_ , that it could happen to any one of them. No, that would be terrible! Horrible! Unthinkable!

His bedroom door was so close. It was arm distance away, when there was a bang, like bodies crashing, and then Hazel shrieked.

He froze.

His body was aching to take those two little steps to his bedroom and lock himself away in safety, but his brain was screaming, " _Hazel, Hazel! Help Hazel!"_

He turned around robotically, took one step towards the stairway, looked down, and there was blue _._ So much _blue_ , too much. So close, too close.

The blond's eyes were locked on his, and he barely registered that Hazel was trapped beneath him trying to get up, before his vision was blurring at the edges.

Then there was nothing but blackness and the lingering question: _is he harassing my sister?_


End file.
